


don't be mad, don't be mad, not like I had a choice

by naturecrow



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crushes, Fantasizing, Feelings Realization, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Season 1, Trans Martin Blackwood, he humps a pillow, pretty men, you think you're jacking it to one guy but suddenly there's two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24094513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturecrow/pseuds/naturecrow
Summary: Martin busy, thinking 'bout boy(s)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 16
Kudos: 260





	don't be mad, don't be mad, not like I had a choice

That night, Martin comes home from work at 9 PM shaky from exhaustion, tired down to his bones. He kicks off his shoes in the hall, lets them land where they may, and sighs deeply before shaking his head and heading to the kitchen in search of food, something quick and easy before bed.

In the kitchen, he's greeted by the small succulent plant that lives on his window sill, and which has been slowly dying of thirst over the last few months. Ever since he started working in the archives. "Hi, buddy," he mumbles, and goes to find a frozen pizza, preheats the oven.

It'd been a long day.

He and Tim had returned to the institute after a research trip to find Jon particularly ticked off, because Martin had apparently deposited a particularly vital case file into an incorrect storage box, and Jon and Sasha had been looking for it everywhere.

Jon had been frantic and ruffled, his voice stiff and gruff, communicating in short precise sentences, his resentment a palpable cloud around him. Well. More than it usually was.

They’d all started sorting through boxes then, even though it’d been nearly 6 and they'd already had a full work-day. But Jon had been insistent in that desperate sort of way he got sometimes, which seemed deliberately designed to inspire goodwill in Martin (and Tim as well, Martin suspected), so stayed behind they had. Sasha had bid them all a good night and gone on home.

Martin had held a stiff upper lip for the most part, doing his best to mechanically sort through everything as fast as possible, but after 45 minutes of Jon's exasperated sighing and moaning, it’d all started to get to him a bit. He'd made for a discreet and brisk escape to the office kitchen to make them all tea, anything to vacate from the mess he'd apparently made, and the short, grumpy man in the midst of it all, at least for a bit.

(The pizza, cherry tomato, goes into the oven, and Martin sets the timer on his phone for 14 minutes. He smiles when he thinks of what happened during that tea break, tired as he is, runs a hand over his face as he closes his eyes, letting the soft, lingering feelings of crush run through him.

He feels... well.

Very gay.)

As it happened, Tim had followed Martin into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, a jaunty sort of spring in his step. Martin had looked back at him, and they'd grimaced at each other, before Tim had sent him a rather warm smile and Martin had had to look away.

(Tim always does that - the smiling - and Martin can never quite figure out what to make of it... If Tim actually likes Martin, or if he's just so charming, and Martin so desperate, that a friendly smile from a handsome co-worker starts to seem like an invitation. Martin doesn't want to make assumptions anyway.)

"Long day, huh?" Tim had said, walking over to Martin, who'd been facing the stove-top, looking through the cupboards for mugs and tea bags.

He'd noted that Tim didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular from the kitchen, was just stood there staring, as Martin poured water into the kettle. Attentively.

(Tim had been there to talk to _him_ , Martin thinks fondly, an absurd amount of pride sprouting in his chest, smiling as he walks into the living room to wait for the pizza to get done.)

Martin had chuckled softly in acknowledgement, and added: "Not over yet."

Tim had simply groaned in response. A low evening light had been shining in from the kitchen window, gilding his brown, almost cherubic curls rather fetchingly. It was a lovely sight.

"I'm sorry about -" Martin'd said, and inwardly cringed at the sound of his own voice, all high-pitched and pitiful. "- all of this."

Tim's answer had been soft, encouraging: "Nah, it's all good, it's gonna be fine. Not like the filing system here makes sense anyway."

"Pssh. Yeah. I had to spend 2 hours the other day rifling through boxes just to find that one about the woman who's teeth fell out from 2005, and it was stashed with a bunch of stuff from the early 1900's, I really don't get it."

"The one where she finds them all under her pillow?" They'd both made a face at that, Tim sticking out his tongue in disgust.

_I want that in my mouth_ , Martin had thought, and then frowned slightly. _Can't say that._

"Yep, that's the one," he'd replied instead, shaking his head, trying desperately not to blush, though the heat had (rudely) found its way into his cheeks anyway.

The water'd started boiling at that point (along with Martin's blood), as Tim had stepped even closer to Martin, leaning back against the counter, angling himself to catch Martin's gaze. He'd sort of bumped their shoulders together (which had _bolted_ through Martin's arm, sending sparks flying all throughout his body), and smiled again, this time accompanied by a small frown. He'd appeared to be thinking something over.

When Tim spoke again, he'd seemed uncharacteristically nervous: "You know, if you ever wanted to go for a drink after a day like this -"

”Is that tea?” Jon’s voice had rung clear from the hall, his small body silhouetted strangely against the fluorescent lights behind him. Martin's heart had skipped a beat.

“Yes! Yes,” he'd replied, as Tim had slid away from him a little, back out of Martin's personal space. Looking rather annoyed.

"I could use a cup, too, if there's, if there’s enough," Jon had said, sounding a little frail and a little helpless, all the steam from earlier gone out of him. He'd looked tired and frazzled, his long hair sort of frizzy and all over the place from running his hands through it all day. _He's cute with his hair messed up like that_ , Martin had thought, and then promptly put a pin on that line of thinking, pushing it out of his mind almost as soon as it appeared. Wouldn't do.

Jon hadn't made eye contact with either Martin or Tim as he’d made his way into the kitchen. But then he rarely did, except to glare, so all in all Martin had taken it as a good sign.

“Yeah, of course, it’s just the three of us, there's plenty," Martin had said, and started preparing mugs and tea bags for all of them, performing his compulsive acts of apology with relief. He'd already been meaning to make one for Jon too, naturally, but it'd been nice, hearing him ask like that.

Jon had nodded, and gone to sit down at the lunch table, put his hands over his eyes, slumped in over himself.

Tim and Martin had sent each other looks at that, Tim waggling his eyebrows in wry amusement, and Martin frowning, biting his bottom lip gently, a bit concerned. Jon always seemed so tired these days, which in turn made him even more annoyed with the rest of them. Tim had leaned in and bumped Martin with his shoulder again, softly.

_Zing_ right down Martin's arm.

"You heard me before, right?" Tim had said in a tone that was as casual as it was soft, a hint of pleading.

Martin had nodded, and looked away to hide his smile, but not said anything in return. He'd been just about finished with making their teas, and could pretend that the blush coloring his cheeks was from the steam.

He hadn't been sure what Tim meant by "go for a drink", but the hopeful, daydreaming part of him had conjured up something fun and romantic, something casual and wonderful.

_The two of them in the discreet corner of a pub, Tim kissing pretty paths down his neck, touching Martin’s knee. Martin pushing him back into his seat, keeping him in place to press kisses onto that gorgeous mouth, maybe Tim would let Martin pull at his curls -_

_Not tonight_ , another part of him had retorted, firmly. _Need to discuss the_ thing _first_.

The trans thing, rather. Not that he thought Tim would mind, necessarily, but Martin had been wrong before. The thought of Tim getting... _surprised_ , or something, and reacting poorly, made Martin want to crawl out of his own skin. And besides, it'd been a long day.

(Martin sighs. 10 minutes left on the timer as he throws himself onto the couch in the living room, limbs sprawling.)

"Yes, I heard you," Martin had said, and sent a careful smile Tim's way. They'd held each other's gazes for a few seconds, and Tim had raised an eyebrow - _Well?_ He'd looked pretty enough to kiss right then and there, plump lips shaped into a teasing pout, dark brown freckles covering his nose, cheekbone to cheekbone.

"Not tonight," Martin had said, quietly, so Jon wouldn't hear. "But that would be nice."

Tim had sighed and briefly looked down at his feet, before sending an odd stare in Jon's direction. "Wouldn't it just."

As Martin had gone to place the steaming mug in front of Jon, Jon had turned his face up from his slump, and they'd shared a brief moment of eye contact. Jon's eyes had been huge and dark brown, and Martin had been slightly shocked to see an almost serene expression on his face, in stark contrast to his otherwise disheveled appearance, the bags under his eyes. He sometimes got like this after a long work-day, too exhausted to think, Martin assumed. That look in Jon's eyes always gave Martin the impression of an old cat blinking itself awake from a nap.

"Thank you, Martin," Jon had said, voice low and hoarse, as he'd curled his fingers around his mug, and blown gently at the steam, which had fogged up his glasses.

"You're welcome, Jon," Martin had replied, a little bemused and endeared by the uncharacteristic expression of gratitude.

He'd turned his gaze back towards Tim, who'd been watching Jon too, almost fond, before giving himself a minute shake of the head and doing a small wave goodbye at Martin, as he'd headed back into the archives.

-

Home on the couch, Martin thinks back on the surges of electricity that'd gone through him at Tim's casual touches. It makes something fall hot and sweet into Martin's stomach, and he shuts his eyes and crosses his arms, allowing himself to smile at the memory. He feels... gooey.

Martin doesn't have a lot of experience being at the receiving end of someone's affections, almost doesn't believe himself a viable candidate for something like that. But something about Tim's oddly earnest smiles, the way he keeps finding ways to touch Martin in casual (or not so casual) ways. It almost makes Martin want to trust Tim with this. With him.

(Even if Tim is much too gorgeous, and definitely sleeps around, and probably just wants a fling. Even then. Martin feels like they're on the same page.)

_Tim wants to take me for a drink._ Martin lets himself dwell on it, the simple fact of it enough to make goosebumps spring up and down his arms, chills up the back of his neck, face breaking into a smile.

Heat pooling between his legs.

Martin blinks his eyes back open, checks the timer on his phone. 8 minutes. Takes two seconds to think about it _(Am I too tired for this? No),_ before reaching out blindly behind him to grab hold of one of the two large, firm sofa pillows he has. Gets the green one.

He squirms out of his jeans until he's just in his boxer briefs, shapes the pillow just so, and places it between his legs so it presses up against him. His mouth opens in a lax O-shape at the sweet, soft pressure, shivers a little at the cold air against his legs. Gets in position.

He starts rolling his hips ever so slightly, grinding his cock against the fabric, letting his mind wander.

_He and Tim are still in the pub, but they're all alone now. He sucks against Tim's neck, and Tim_ moans _, "Martin... God, don't stop," and Martin smiles into the soft skin, reaches down to unzip Tim's pants, feels him hard through his jeans._

"Mmph," Martin mutters, starts grinding more firmly.

_"You like that?" Martin whispers into Tim's neck, before pressing another sucking kiss into it, wants to make him feel good, so good._

_"Oh, yeah, could be worse," Tim gasps, perhaps aiming for cocky, but his voice coming out somehow both strained and airy. He shivers as Martin slips a hand into his pants, starts stroking him off. Tim starts keening, places his hands firmly on Martin's shoulder, holding on tight._

_"God, I want you in my mouth," Tim murmurs and Martin shivers._

He pauses his slow rhythm for a second, considering. The setting changes.

_They're in Martin's bed, and Tim is positioned in between Martin's thighs sucking his cock, and Martin can feel the scratch of Tim's stubble against him every time his chin shifts position, rough against his inner lips. Wet sucking noises fill the room as Tim grunts with exertion, and places a hand on the inside of each of Martin's thighs, pushing them ever so slightly apart for better access as he licks and sucks and tongues. Martin reaches down to pull at Tim's hair, and he wishes it was longer, wishes -_

_Suddenly, there's Jon, straddled across Martin's chest as Tim continues working in between Martin's legs. Jon's hard and wanting, stroking Martin's pectorals, kissing him, and -_

"Ah, ah, oh!" Martin says out loud, a little surprised, and feels pleasure coil hot and pleasant in his stomach. His cock twitches, and he starts to ache so sweetly against the pillow. _Oh?_

It all snaps sharply into focus, a loaded spring, and he thinks back on the time Jon had been stood on a library stool and nearly fallen over while reaching for a book. Martin had reacted on instinct, grabbing Jon by the arm to stabilize him, and Jon had blinked very hard and fast, and made a quiet sound that had almost, sort of, sounded like a moan. Martin remembers the blush that'd crept into his own cheeks as he'd let go of Jon's arm with a start, apologized (for _what?_ ) and promptly scuttled out of the library, replaying Jon's quiet sound in his head for the rest of the day. It somehow hadn't clicked that _that_ meant... this. 

Oh well. Martin goes with it. He grabs the pillow tightly, and starts humping it in earnest, small rhythmic movements, making soft "ah, ah, ah" sounds. It makes him think of _fucking_ someone. He feels a droplet of sweat running down his lower back.

"Jon, that's it, that's it," Martin whimpers out loud, likes hearing the sound of Jon's name in his own voice ricochet around his small living room, can almost imagine him here.

_"God, look at you," Jon says, eyes so soft and so wanting, as he presses small, sucking kisses to Martin's lips, and caresses his face tenderly, before pulling away. He's grinding, almost desperately, on Martin's belly, grabbing hold of the sheets to keep steady. Tim peeks up from behind Jon to catch Martin's gaze, and smiles as he - one hand still working away between Martin's legs - drags the shorter man into a tonguing kiss, grabbing at Jon's chin to turn his face and catch that precious mouth, licking into it, before sliding a hand down Jon's chest to pinch and rub at a small brown nipple. This causes Jon to lean back slightly, making him unable to grind against anything, and his cock twitches softly as Tim caresses him._

That image is almost enough to send Martin over the edge, as he _fucks_ into the pillow, hips bucking, his cock so hard, and a hot wetness gathering between his legs. He grunts and moans, not caring about how he sounds, how loud he's being. He's turned on in a way that almost _hurts_.

The fantasy changes, and _he is spreading Jon's legs and sliding a cock into him, watching his face contort in pleasure as Tim pins his arms behind his head, keeping Jon locked into place as he_ takes _it so_ good _. Martin grabs onto Jon's ankles, uses the hold to push his feet further back towards his shoulders, he and Tim holding Jon steady as Martin pushes into him, deep, so deep, again and again and again..._

_Jon opens his eyes, large and dark brown, and looks directly into Martin's own, his mouth hanging open, gaze blissful and relaxed, blinking slowly like a cat. "Martin, you feel g- You feel, I, hmph... Martin, thank y-"_

Martin comes suddenly, pushes the pillow up against himself hard, hips jerking and grinding, breathless and so Goddamn _wet_.

"Oh, fuck," he mutters, grinding through the aftershocks, gradually slowing his hips into a relaxed, rolling motion, before stopping completely. He sits down fully, quickly coming back to himself, replaying the scene in his head with a sense of disbelief. The pillow is crumpled up between his legs, and he kicks it away, watching it thud onto the floor. Frowns.

The timer on his phone goes off suddenly, and he only flinches a little in surprise, still feeling soft and relaxed from the orgasm. He lets his mind wander back over the specifics of what he'd been imagining, and can suddenly only think about _Jon's long hair in Martin's hands as he pushes Jon into a wall, Jon's hands sliding round to grab a hold of Martin's bum, squeezing greedily. He lets out a soft whimper when Martin starts peppering kisses down his neck, using his grip in Jon's hair to get better access, as he presses him further into the wall, their bodies getting closer and closer, and -_

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he repeats, as the dawning horror sets in. The phone timer sings its _beep-beep-beep_ out into the living room, and it seems a fitting soundtrack to the realization (or perhaps it is simply admission) that Martin is attracted to his boss. To _t_ _hat_ boss. To _Jon_.

He is _very_ attracted to his boss.

Martin takes a deep breath.

Exhales.

He stands up from the couch, slightly unsteady on his feet, placing a hand over his eyes and rubbing his face, as his legs start their slow and arduous trek towards the kitchen.

_O_ _h. Fuck,_ he repeats in his head, as he starts washing his hands over the kitchen sink. His mind automatically goes to Jon's hands, curling possessively around the mug of tea that Martin had made for him. Thinks about touching them. Feels his own mouth curl into a smile that is almost heart-achingly tender. _He wanted me to make him tea._

Martin is so taken aback by that thought and the pleasant reaction he's having to it, that he shakes his head in disbelief in an attempt to clear it. As if the warm feelings and the thoughts of Jon's hands and the smile on Martin's face and the wet spot still drying between his legs, will all simply go away, if he can just manage to think straight.

He cannot. And they do not go away, not one of them.

"Well, Blackwood." The phone is still beeping in his hand as he opens the oven door, steam fogging up his glasses, heart pounding as the feeling settles, firm and hot in his chest. "You're nothing if not predictable," he mutters, and presses stop on the timer.


End file.
